


Fruits and Nuts

by Jenna Hilary Sinclair (JennaHilary)



Category: Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Humor, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-10
Updated: 2017-08-10
Packaged: 2018-12-13 16:15:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,290
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11763633
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JennaHilary/pseuds/Jenna%20Hilary%20Sinclair
Summary: Humor, I hope!





	Fruits and Nuts

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FRUITS AND NUTS

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**_by Jenna Hilary Sinclair_ **

(This story first appeared in First Time 46)

_The Federation Times-Herald_ was available to members of Starfleet at no cost. Therefore the subscription rate was close to ninety-five percent, the military being notorious for high adventure but low wages, and enlisted folks being savvy to a good deal when they saw one. Even crewmembers on starships, far-flung throughout the galaxy on their death-defying missions, were entitled to receive the Federation’s most venerable newspaper, though it generally arrived in the ship’s computer banks too late to make the news worth reading. And the newspaper wasn’t all news, and long ago it had ceased to be printed on paper. Commander Spock of the _Enterprise_ had commented on the imprecision of Standard many times. In particular, to James T. Kirk, his commanding officer, and his friend.

Most members of the crew did not care too much to hear another of the First Officer’s Vulcanisms, but Kirk never seemed to mind. The Old Man, the crew agreed, was crazy about Mister Spock because of all the times Spock had pulled his nuts out of the fire. Kirk was willing to put up with anything, they believed, including being bored to tears, if it meant he and his ship lived to fight another day. The crew, crawling around the belly of the _Enterprise_ in Hydroponics, Storage and the Bowling Alley, nodded sagely to one other, and when they were alone, to themselves. Yep, the Old Man and his nuts were in good hands with Mister Computer. 

But Captain Kirk was unaware of the general preoccupation with his nuts. He was preoccupied with Spock. And yes, tonight, with his nuts. Tonight, the most incredibly long fingers, moving with exquisite grace, were exerting Vulcan strength and cracking Ma’antha nuts. 

Crack! went the rare delicacy which Kirk had bought downside on Garanthita just a few hours ago, before the _Enterprise_ warped out of orbit. _Spock will love these_ he had thought when he’d seen them in the super-automated but still culturally significant replica of Garanthita’s ancient bazaar, and pounced. Now, just why the captain found it necessary to purchase gifts for his second-in-command was no one’s gosh-darn business, just as it was no one’s business to ask why Kirk’s heart positively thumped when his first officer almost-smiled as he received said offerings later that night after Kirk invaded his quarters uninvited. 

Geez, to see Spock almost-smile. That shy inclination of the sleek, dark head, that pinching in of the corners of the austere yet sensitive mouth, and most of all, the light that would dance in Spock’s midnight eyes, for just a moment. Lately, it seemed that Kirk couldn’t get enough of it. That almost-smile was addictive. The crew hardly ever saw it, but if he played his cards right, Kirk got to see it a lot. 

He didn’t even know when he’d started planning strategies to make that smile come alive. Well, maybe he did. It was when they’d both been injured in the rockslide on Arius III, and been laid up on adjacent bunks in sickbay. He’d slipped from his bed and hobbled over to Spock’s after the nurses had tucked them in for the night.

“Wanna scratch?” he’d asked with a lascivious smile, as if he’d used the word screw instead. It sent a naughty little thrill straight down his spine to his nether regions; the sickbay gown that the nurses had dressed him in scarcely hid his body’s reaction. 

Spock had not misunderstood him. His lips had twitched _(hey, it wasn’t much but it counted in Kirk’s eyes!)_ and Kirk leaned in closer just in time to see the happy light appear. It was even better than outsmarting a Klingon. Then the Vulcan invalid had rolled over onto his side, which just happened to be one of Kirk’s favorite positions for indulging his nether regions, and the captain had hopped up onto the bed. 

“Ahhh,” the first officer had actually said after a few moments of silent activity, and then “pardon me,” as if he had burped.

“That’s all right,” Kirk had whispered, “your secret is safe with me. Hedonist.” And he’d reached up and dared to ruffle his best friend’s smooth cap of hair. 

Spock hadn’t seemed to mind, and so Kirk did it again, and repressed the impulse to follow his fingers with his lips. Just one kiss, at the base of his friend’s neck. Would it have been so bad? 

Yikes! 

Yes! 

No….

He’d have to think about this. 

_His_  
lips  
against  
Spock’s  
skin. 

Oooooohhhhhhhh. 

That did it. Kirk had always been a quick decision maker. In the space of two seconds he went from experienced heterosexual galactic loverboy to an eager-to-learn lover of men. Or, to be precise, and Spock would always want him to be precise, Kirk knew, potential lover of one particular Vulcan. 

While the captain contemplated conflict-of-command issues, emotional entanglements and how-the-hell-did-two-guys-do-it, he continued vigorously scratching the dry skin on Spock’s back. He’d seen his friend squirming against the sheets all day, in un-Vulcan display, and he’d also seen the eager way the nurses had offered to “smooth lotion all over, Mister Spock. You’ll feel sooooooo much better.” As if Spock would take them up on their offers just because the rocks had scraped so much of his back’s skin off and the plasti-patches made him itch! He had too much integrity for that. Kirk had watched the blonde nurse leave, and made a face at her retreat, and come up with a way, full of integrity of course, to make his friend almost-smile at him instead. 

Now, he was after more than smiles.

As Spock cracked each of the Ma’antha nuts, he put them in a bowl that was on the table in front of the sofa where he and Kirk sat in the Vulcan’s quarters. The sofa was not standard issue, but Spock had purchased a small version of an upholstered settee about six weeks previously. Right after the episode in sickbay, as a matter of fact, at the very beginning of Kirk’s smile campaign. Smiles, Kirk had figured from his vast well of sexual experience, were the first step in the right direction, and that was why he pursued them so assiduously. 

Anyway, Spock claimed to have done research on his new decor, and he called it a “love seat.” Unwisely, Kirk had snickered, and Spock had stood very straight and said, “I am not kidding.” 

“Right, right, I know you wouldn’t ever do that,” (or say it, an amazed inner voice averred) and Kirk had promptly sat down on the cushion, uninvited, which was something he did a lot. Spock had sat down next to him a milli-second later, which made the furniture shake a little, but which Kirk found rather endearing. 

So after that Kirk managed to find his way to his second-in-command’s quarters every night, so he could sit on the love seat and talk with Spock, their knees almost-but-not-quite-brushing, except on the nights when they were on a landing party exploring a new world, or negotiating with a non-human culture so they wouldn’t blow up the _Enterprise_ , or chasing the Klingons away from Space Station Depot #69, or when Scotty had the flu and one of them was needed on the bridge. In other words, he’d made it to Spock’s cabin eight times in the last forty-two days. Kirk knew, he and his nether regions had been counting. He still wasn’t quite sure how—the anatomy texts had been specific, the vids positively inspiring, but how to approach your best friend who happened to be a non-demonstrative Vulcan?—but he was determined to give it a try. With the very best of intentions, to be sure. After all, he loved Spock, almost-smiles and boring Vulcanisms and all, from the top of his pointed ears (even including the brain that was higher), down to the big, clumsy feet that had triggered the rock slide. 

So he sat on the love seat and watched the last of the Ma’antha nuts being opened. This one splintered and a tiny bit of the shell flew up into his eye. 

“Ouch,” he said, “Watch where you’re cracking,” and instinctively his hand went up. 

But Spock was even quicker, being possessed of Vulcan reflexes and perhaps, just perhaps, an ability to aim incredibly accurately. Kirk wasn’t quite sure. 

“May I?” Spock asked, and one hand slid behind his captain’s head, steadying it in the cradle of his palm. Then he took Kirk’s chin and tilted his face up to the light, leaned in close to examine the speck that, for just a moment, had made Kirk blink, but which now was totally forgotten. 

They’d never been this close, face to face, eye to eye. Well, maybe once or twice. Or three or four times. And then, that time on Orion IV, and on Shipera Nova. Okay, they’d been this close a bunch of times before. But never had Spock looked at him so deeply, never had the two of them been so silent, never had Kirk’s mouth longed so much to move up, just a little, and fasten itself on his friend’s enchanting, almost-pursed lips. To kiss Spock, and then to kiss him some more with their tongues touching, and then to rip off every stitch of clothing they wore, and to lie on top of him, skin to skin, and screw the living daylights out of him and finally to come gloriously and then to fall immediately to sleep with Spock’s warm breathing beneath him…. God, what a fairy tale. Especially the immediately falling to sleep part, full of silent repletion, since this was something Kirk never permitted himself to do with his female partners because he had a reputation to maintain as a galactic stud. But with Spock it would be different. No reputations, no images, just lots of good hard loving and glorious sex, and…and…a home. A home for him in Spock, and one for Spock in him. It was a trade he fervently wanted it make. It was just…moving those last centimeters, mouth to mouth, to that first step. How the hell to do it, in this silence, this pregnant silence that made his heart beat so loudly? 

“If you will allow me?” Spock said, and for an insanely wonderful moment Kirk thought he was asking for permission to fulfill his captain’s wildest dreams, but he wasn’t. He just wanted to get the speck of nut shell from Kirk’s eye, so Kirk nodded, twice, in time with his pulsing blood.

Spock shifted even closer, so that one knee pushed against his captain’s thigh, and his face seemed to be only millimeters not centimeters away, and the hand holding his head moved, its fingers spreading in what felt like a caress. Then Spock breathed, and his breath, which was always deliciously fresh, wafted across Kirk’s cheek and up into his hair, and with exquisite precision Spock’s warm, warm fingertip moved against the inside corner of his eye, to his sleepy spot _(what intimacy!)_ and the speck was gone, along with the last remnants of Kirk’s composure.

He felt like he’d been thoroughly fucked by someone he adored. Or at least, the way he imagined being thoroughly fucked felt like, since his experience was limited to vigorous fantasy and recent wet dreams. His eyes tingled, his face was thrilled alive, even his hair was sexually excited, along with every other molecule of his body. All from a fingertip! He was going to _**love**_ making love with Spock. 

Then the big warm hands left his head and his face, and he wanted to cry. _Pull yourself together, Kirk. Starship captains don’t cry, they go after what they want._

Amazingly, another inner voice answered the first. _I’ve never heard of a starship captain who fucked his first officer, though._

_What? Who are you?_

_Voice of reason and caution._

_Oh. No wonder I didn’t recognize you._

_So? Maybe you should listen to me for a change. I don’t think this Spock thing is a good idea. Starfleet isn’t going to like it. Ma Kirk isn’t going to like it. And the nature of your medical exams with Bones is going to change, big time._

Images of ice-cold speculums danced in Kirk’s head, and he winced. _I don’t care. Spock is worth it. Home, remember? There’s no place like home._

_This isn’t Kansas anymore, Jim-boy._

_Iowa, that’s Iowa._

_Whatever. Fucking Spock—_

_**Loving** Spock._

_Translates to the same thing, doesn’t it? Getting your first officer in the sack and applying massive amounts of skin to skin contact is not going to be good for your career._

Kirk looked over at Spock, sitting demurely on the love seat next to him, those big, warm hands with the incredibly long fingers (what they could do and where they could reach had figured prominently in his wet dreams) folded neatly in his lap, his questioning gaze looking so innocent, so breathtaking, so damn seductive….

Kirk sprung a hard-on an instant later, and the voice of reason and caution was buried under an avalanche of hormones. The voice yelped _help!_ , but Kirk was in no condition to hear. 

He hitched around so he was half-facing his Vulcan, drew up his leg onto the cushion in a way that did nothing at all to hide his at-attention sexual organ, and cast about for a way towards his goal. His cock twitched and urged him to just grab and hump. A _reasonable_ way towards his goal, he silently admonished it. “Uh…Uh….” His gaze fell on the bowl on the table and he gestured towards it. “I’ve heard that this kind of nut has a particularly sweet…meat….” He wanted to bang his head against the wall or maybe run screaming from the room. That _wasn’t_ what he’d meant to say. 

Spock swallowed hard, audibly, his Adam’s apple ( _I even love that_ , Kirk thought, watching in dreadful fascination— _I’m nuts_ ) bobbing up and down, but he did not rip his gaze from his captain’s. Which Kirk eventually became aware of, as the silence lengthened and Spock’s mouth opened and closed soundlessly. 

“Yes,” the logical object of his desires finally managed to say. “I also have heard of the…sweet meat…of the Ma’antha nut. And of other varieties…of nut…which are equally sweet.”

He was crazy, he was crazy, he was interpreting this all wrong, right? Spock hadn’t said that. Had he? (And just what was that love seat doing in the Vulcan’s quarters, anyway, showing up so conveniently?)

“Uh, but you haven’t tasted anything yet.” Kirk’s gaze went down to the nuts, up to Spock’s mouth, and lingered there. He hoped he looked encouraging, or at least coy. 

A long, stretched-out silence, mimicking a certain impatient portion of the captain’s anatomy. “Perhaps I have been…waiting for you.”

 _Oh. Dear. God. Almighty._ Klingons were going to have to start crawling out the ventilation ducts to stop Kirk now. He drew a deep, shaky breath, and dared to put one hand on Spock’s knee. 

“I’m here now,” he whispered. “No more waiting.” How long had Spock been waiting for him, before that foolish game Kirk started in the sickbay? “Want some?”

No more silences or hesitations. “Yes, Jim. Please.” Somehow, Spock had moved closer, and was gripping Kirk’s waist. 

Kirk leaned, not forward, but towards the table so he could dip into the bowl and come up with some sweet, sweet meat from a nut. “Here it is.” He held it up in the air between them. “For you.” And slowly, he inserted it into Spock’s mouth. When the green-tinged tongue swiped along his fingers, he almost came on the spot. Or rather, in a big spot. 

_Crunch._ A rather loud, inelegant noise, as Spock bit down on the nut, then maneuvered it to the pouch of his cheek. In a food-impaired mumble, he said, “And for you.” A nut from the bowl, held in the air between them, deposited oh-so-delicately into Kirk’s waiting, eager mouth. He shoved the damn thing into his own cheek and unabashedly caught his lover’s—yes, damn it, _lover’s_ —hand to his mouth, and kissed it. 

“Love you, Spock,” he panted. “I want to— Oh, the hell with it.”

He spit the fucking nut out onto the floor, pushed Spock onto his back on the love seat, and climbed aboard. His Vulcan was all bone-sharp hills and rock-hard valleys, and for a moment there was a real question as to whether Kirk would manage to find his balance or tumble to the floor. But Spock grabbed him and pulled him up and just a little to the right, and then they were chest to chest and breathing hard, and—with one look into not an almost-smile, but a real, genuine Spock-smile—Kirk went down in a joyous swoop, better than flying, really, and his mouth fastened on the most willing, open, wet mouth he’d ever had the pleasure to kiss. Or plunder. However, it was a bit nutty.

They did have a little more trouble, there in the beginning. You see, Spock had been having his own midnight fantasies, ever since that sickbay backrub had kept him up all night with an unusually recalcitrant erection that wouldn’t listen to his Vulcan admonishments about control and proper attitude. He kept thinking of what a delectable dish Jim really was. And there’d been one wonderful dream, dry not wet, since Vulcans don’t, you know, where _he’d_ been the one on top, humping away happily in joyous conjunction, and Jim had just loved it. In the dream, that is. 

In reality, Jim wasn’t so sure about this reversal in his plans for their first time together, so there was a somewhat anxious period of negotiation, conducted while on the floor of the Vulcan’s cabin, when they each had just one article of clothing still on (Jim wore his left sock, regulation black, and Spock was down to a pair of red silk undershorts, shockingly non-regulation, but very hopeful.) Jim frowned, and Spock wilted and bit his lower lip while looking at his captain from under lowered eyes, through his eyelashes, a trick he’d learned from you-know-who. And Jim said, suspiciously, “On my back?”

“Whichever way you wish, my…my….”

Jim grabbed him, pulled him up to his knees and ground their erections together. “Captain! I’m your captain, and don’t you forget it.”

“Never!” 

“You’ll be going where no man has gone before,” Kirk admonished, not quite willing to give up yet. 

Spock kept silent and did not reciprocate with a similar declaration, which was suspicious, but in the rush of events the captain forgot to pursue that particular line of questioning. They took it up again, four weeks later, and had one hell of a fight about Spock’s so-called lack of experience. And Kirk thought he was getting a virgin!

But back on the floor of Spock’s cabin, Kirk’s nether regions had never been so ready, therefore backward or forward, take or be taken, something had to be done.

“We’ll take turns!” he said, suddenly inspired. “And since I’m the captain, I’m going first!”

Well actually, he _came_ first, and then third and fifth, nicely spacing it with second, fourth and sixth, which were after all the proper positions for his second-in-command. 

And that is the story of how a few nuts helped bring together a couple of fruits. Or how the fruit of the nut helped cement a new relationship, which actually lasted one hundred and thirty-two years, not counting the time when Spock was dead. Which he wasn’t for long, for which Kirk’s nether regions were profoundly grateful. 

THE END


End file.
